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Remy LeBeau (ace_of_clubs) wrote in vas_captio_rpg,
@ 2009-09-18 09:19:00

Entry tags:

!complete, day 23, location: church, remy lebeau, the doctor (ten)

Who: Remy LeBeau & The Doctor (Tenth)
What: Gambit keeps his promise.
Where: At the Church
When: Day 23, 10:02pm
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete

'Church, ten o'clock' the Doctor had said. Thankfully, the mutant was able to read his digital wrist watch with no problem. It had a little feature where you could push the button and it lit up. How cool was that? So after watching the Time Lord walk off into the darkness, he had turned back around to watch the fire burning down the barn. Really, it was fantastic to behold, and though he idly wondered if the smoke would fill up the bubble and kill them all.. he wasn't really that concerned. This enclosure was huge, after all.. and there had to be some sort of exchange going on, right? Else they would have run out of oxygen long ago.

While standing there watching the barn burn, Selene had come along.. the Cajun had been more than happy to indulge her for a while, before finally he'd collected up the buckets of water, his washing board, and various other items, and had taken them across town towards the church. He'd only been there a handful of times, but he had enjoyed it, it was peaceful. So it was at ten o'clock that the Cajun, hauling along three buckets full of water, five water bottles, three empty buckets, a washing board, and a little red wagon (all rusted and ugly, but still working) down the road to the Church. He would, of course, end up having to turn into the woods, but he just took it slow from there, until he was passing by the cemetery, slowing his steps to rake red eyes out across the graves. There were at least two bodies in there, Selene had said she'd buried them there.. idly, he wondered who they were. But he wouldn't dwell on it. The strictly Catholic-Raised Cajun (except for Tante Mattie, who was into voodoo) mentally repeated a prayer, though he'd lost his faith long ago. It was habit.

And just moments later, he was coming to a stop in front of that church and leaving the red wagon behind as he went up the stairs, pushing open those double doors and stepping on through. He hadn't ever been inside the church.. but as he stepped through the doors, he felt a little shiver. That was what faith did to you, kids. It made you feel like God was watching you all the time. And right now, he felt a little paranoid about it -- Sinners didn't want God watching them all the time.

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fromgallifrey
2009-09-18 03:04 pm UTC (link)

The Doctor, who wasn't a man of this particular faith (really, it was hard to have a belief in an almighty when you had such a scientificly bound mind and the power to navigate time and space at a whim) Had actually taken to setting the front of the chuch up as a work station. The altar was strewn with bits of metal and wires and a large contraption that was clearly on it's way to being built into something. Pews had been dragged up front and tasked as shelves holding the collection of pieces and bits the genius had deemed useful. Was it that hard to believe the Doctor, a man of science, would turn this place of faith into his workshop? Sorry for those he'd offended.

With the sound of the front door closing, the Time Lord turned around from his work to give the Cajun a nod before laying out more bits beside the bulk of the modulator. He was planning his work, and making sure he had everything he needed to complete his contraption. He'd told you, Remy, he was going to complete this tomorrow. Don't doubt him, not this time.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-09-18 03:10 pm UTC (link)

He wouldn't doubt him.. he looked very into it, as if he had to do this. Like it was an urge, a need. He would never doubt that look. But when he got no verbal greeting, he simply closed the doors behind him and slowly came forward, nearly heel to toe in his silent movements as he looked around. The last time he'd been in a church, he'd been bloody and hiding. It didn't bring back great memories. But it'd been a long time.

But instead of breaking the silence, he was simply coming up alongside the older man to look over his work and his half-built contraption, a gloved hand moving out to touch idly at some of those parts, before he reached out to touch at the modulator.. or what would soon become the modulator. And once his fingers were satisfied with the cool metal he found there, he was moving them again. This time, they found spiky brown hair, and he curled his fingers lightly, before simply sifting them through the darker strands, watching as the Time Lord worked on the modulator. Curious.

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fromgallifrey
2009-09-18 03:34 pm UTC (link)

Of course he had to do this - the Doctor needed to fix something, and eh couldn't fix himself or the ginger man. He couldn't fix his friends, or this place. What he could do was build something to break the wall. That was sort of like fixing, wasn't it?

The last time the Doctor was in a church he'd been watching a man by Lazarus die. He'd been watching a man who'd wanted to live forever spend his final moments writhing in agony while he tried to tell him that a longer life isn't always a better one. That life seemed to only mean one thing for the oldest of creatures: that no matter what you just end up alone. It was a sad thought, truly; but, it was how the centuries old Doctor felt.

He was sorting out wires by length for a moment and then placing them strategically so they'd be ready when it came to terminate them on their circuits. He was checking those lengths and he barely paid any mind to fingertips that ran along the machine. Though, when that hand turned to his hair the Doctor hardly responded - though, it was sort of comforting, the silence.

"Did you eat anything?" He asked in a thoughtful tone, coiling copper and lining a large barrel with it.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-09-18 03:42 pm UTC (link)

"Non." He admitted quietly. "Vous?" Because he seriously doubted that the Doctor had fed himself, either. The slightly shorter man seemed to be incapable of taking care of himself. Or, so thought the red-eyed Cajun.

No matter the answer he got, his fingers still played gently through that spiky brown hair. It longed to feel it under his hand, not just along two fingers. He wanted to feel it on all of his fingers, his palm, just tickling at the edge of his wrist. He wanted to trail that hand down the other man's neck and rub it over his back, feel the fabric beneath his skin. But he couldn't.. he could, however, pretend. And he was indeed trailing that hand down, over shorter hair in the back, then over his bare neck, the collar of his suit, down to his back where he began rubbing in a circular motion, slowly and casually. It was meant to be comforting, but knowing this pair, it might come off as a sexual advance. The Cajun, who was so sensual and sex-oriented.. and the Doctor, who knew it. It was hard not to think about those touches being something made to lead into sex, since the young American was sex personified. Everything he did, all those little moves, the tone of his voice, the sway of his hips, the way his fingertips stroked.. it all read: sex. But as the Doctor had learned in his stay here, sometimes those touches didn't mean sex at all. When he'd begun removing the Time Lord's clothing, in the cemetery a week ago, it had been for a dance.

He was still full of surprises, Doctor. You just had to let him show you. That was the hard part, wasn't it?

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fromgallifrey
2009-09-18 05:02 pm UTC (link)

"Uh huh," he said, producing one of those pouch meals before he pushed it back beneath the improvised work bench. Reaching back under again he'd hold an unopened one for the Cajun to take. Though it was rapidly dropped as the feel of leather at the back of his neck made the Doctor forget the plan he'd had to affix a little chip beneath those wires and was instead, arching forward, taking posession of his skin from the Cajun's touch.

The problem wasn't that that touch could be construed as sexual. It wasn't an issue that he knew precisely what that Cajun could do with those hands, and had done. No, what was issue was that leather, a very distinct feeling against his own skin that still carried with it some rather unpleasant memories.

"Make any ammends?" He asked abruptly, his middle pressed flush with the table's edge as with jittery hands he tried to press that chip into place. Breathe, Time Lord.

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ace_of_clubs
2009-09-18 05:07 pm UTC (link)

Remy jerked his hand back some when the Doctor pulled forward, worried he'd hurt him or something without realizing.. but when he looked down at his hands, he noticed that glove and a slow breath was released. The glove. "Non.. Pas encore." Not yet. But he was turning his eyes onto the meal laying on the floor, bending there at the waist to pick it up and turn it over in gloved hands. Then he carefully set it aside on the bench. He'd eat it a bit later. Right now, he was unbuttoning both gloves, carefully peeling them off, then he made a particular show of assuring that he dropped both of them into the Time Lord's range of vision, though he never brought naked hands into the picture, only falling gloves, which would hit wood, and settle there.

Only then did his hand come back, this time warm and pliable against the Time Lord's neck, settled against his skin quite purposefully. "Merci beaucoup." For the food, that was. He really would eat it, Time Lord. Eventually.

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fromgallifrey
2009-09-18 05:14 pm UTC (link)

The French was barely discerned because the Doctor was trying to adjust the chip and get it planted right where it ought to be. He'd hardly heard the snap of buttons and leather as those bits of the other man's attire were set on the bench. He didn't even turn his head to look. No, he was just going to breathe. He was going to bottle up the hints of panic and burrow them down deep.

There was the notceable heat of skin against the back of his neck, and despite the tension in his muscles the Doctor forced a sigh. He forced himself to accept that touch. When had he ever done that before? He never accepted anything. He took when he wanted to and ignored when he didn't. Yet, that contradiction of a man was letting that hand sit there. Clearly, if you were paying attention Cajun, something was more than a bit off.

"You should eat."